


Durin Berry Fruitcake

by octopus_fool



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, DISGUSTING FOOD, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, mild emetophobia cw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3407252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/pseuds/octopus_fool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is an old Durin's Day tradition that requires the dwarves to gather all their courage: eating Grandma Durin's fruitcake. Neither Thorin nor any of the other dwarves have ever met anybody who didn't want to run as far as possible at the prospect of having to eat Durin berry fruitcake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Durin Berry Fruitcake

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this tumblr post](http://jimmynesbitt.co.vu/post/104506215608/so-in-pokemon-theres-a-berry-called-the-durin).

Nobody knew exactly who the old woman was. She had been around for all of Thorin’s still short life and that of his father. When Thorin asked his grandfather about her, Thrór shrugged and said she had been around for as long as he could remember as well.

“Do you think she’s Durin’s grandmother?” Dwalin asked Thorin in a hushed tone as they watched the older dwarves eat her traditional fruitcake, crumbs raining into their beards.

“Don’t be stupid, Durin didn’t have a grandmother. Maybe she is Durin’s wife,” Thorin replied.

“He didn’t have a wife either, you’re stupid yourself!” Dwalin retorted. “But there has to be a reason everybody calls her Grandma Durin.”

“Well, he must have had a wife, or there would be no line of Durin,” Thorin said, pulling a face.

“And maybe she was his grandmother when he was reborn. You just want to be right again!” Dwalin said in a loud whisper.

Dís kicked her brother just as he was about to reply. “Shh! She’s looking at you!”

Thorin and Dwalin froze under the old woman’s glare. There was nobody in the entire mountain who dared to cross her and they didn’t want to find out what would happen to the dwarf that did. 

Finally, Grandma Durin turned back to the dwarves eating the fruitcake.

“Thrór, son of Dáin son of Náin, King under the Mountain, I can see you are hiding most of my cake in your beard! Eat up, or misfortune will befall this realm and the line of Durin! Or do you perhaps wish to tell me that you do not like my fruitcake?” Her voice was reedy and not particularly loud, but the king flinched.

“Of course not, Grandma Durin! It is in fact so delicious that I was hoping to save some of this wonderful cake for later. Please forgive me for my mistake.”

“Well, make sure you all eat up so that ill luck will disappear like the cake and fortune will shine upon you all.”

Thorin and Balin watched as Balin, who was old enough to join the cake-eaters for the first time this year, took another bite of the cake and gagged, then continued eating.

“It can’t really be that awful, can it?” Thorin asked. 

Dwalin shrugged. “Balin has always been a bit fussy about food, so perhaps it won’t be too bad. We’ll see in five years when it is our turn.”

 

The five years passed rather quickly and Thorin and Dwalin found themselves sitting at a table with the other cake-eaters. Their apprehension nearly dispersed in face of their eagerness to finally be seen as adults. 

Grandma Durin walked around, grinning as she handed out plates with her infamous fruitcake. 

“Make sure to eat up,” she said, smiling sweetly as she handed Thrór his piece of cake.

Thrór’s smile was slightly strained. “Of course I will.”

Thorin’s nose clogged up the moment the piece of cake was set before him and he tried not to shudder.

“Ah, the young prince,” Grandma Durin said. “How you’ve grown!”

She pinched his cheek and tilted his head up with a hand that smelled just as putrid as the cake. “Now let me take a look at you. Ah, your name will be known for great deeds, although I’m not sure adding a tree to your name is a fitting choice for a dwarf.” She laughed, her cackle surprisingly loud compared to her speaking voice. “You’ll marry the person who absolutely loves my fruitcake.”

She continued on to Dwalin and patted him on his head. “You are one of my favourites, always have been, even though you’ll try to outlive me. I’m not sure you’ll succeed though.”

She moved on, leaving Dwalin and Thorin behind to exchange confused glances. They flinched when she spun around again, but her rage was not directed at them.

“Thrór, son of Dáin son of Náin, King under the Mountain! Do not think I can’t see you! How dare you try to feed that cake to your brother Grór’s pet boar! Are you implying my delicious fruitcake is only fit for pigs?!”

“Of course not, it is delicious! I just couldn’t bear seeing the poor boar so unhappy that it wasn’t getting any cake. Kind-hearted dwarf that I am, I reluctantly decided to forego some of the cake and give it to the boar.”

“Let that boar go and eat your piece of cake! Otherwise no good fortune will come to the Mountain next year.”

Thrór released the boar and it ran away as fast as it could. Its squealing could still be heard long after it had left the hall.

Grandma Durin had barely walked out of earshot when Grór rounded on Thrór. 

“How dare you try to poison my poor boar!” Grór hissed. “We all hate the cake just as much as you do, but we still force it down. Face your duty like we all do instead of torturing my poor innocent animal!”

Thrór apologised and bit into his piece of cake with a shudder. 

Thorin realised he had to face the inevitable as well. Holding his breath, he picked up his piece of cake and took a tentative bite. His face instantly bunched up and tears shot into his eyes. The cake tasted like a mixture of old socks, onions and ear wax with a tinge of putrid sweetness. Involuntarily, he inhaled and immediately regretted it.

Thorin balanced the bite of cake in his mouth, trying to let his tongue touch it as little as possible. His mouth watered unpleasantly as he tried to decide what to do. Spitting it out was sadly out of question but swallowing it seemed equally impossible. 

Blinking the water out of his eyes, Thorin looked into the crowd, determinedly ignoring the stomach-turning sounds Dwalin was making beside him. He was aware he looked a bit like a hamster with a sore tooth. 

Apparently, Dís thought so as well. She and Frerin were watching him and Dwalin intensely and Dís was nearly doubled over from laughter. Frerin showed a bit more restraint, knowing it would be his turn to join the cake-eaters soon enough, but the mirth was clearly written on his face as well.

Thorin gathered all his courage and began chewing. He would never hear the end of it from his siblings if he didn’t. Chewing the fruitcake was like chewing sawdust, if sawdust happened to taste like regurgitated socks. The longer Thorin chewed, the more the dry, crumbly substance in his mouth seemed to multiply. Swallowing it was still impossible. Finally, Thorin took a large swig of water. The taste intensified but Thorin finally managed to swallow down the slimy mass. A sourly-bitter aftertaste remained, but Thorin breathed a sigh of relief. He had done it.

He looked down at his plate. The bite he had taken seemed rather small compared to the slice of cake. 

Beside him, Dwalin had also managed to defeat his first bite.

“This is vile!” He whispered, still shuddering. “I think I might be sick.”

“No you won’t!” Thorin whispered back urgently, feeling the bite of cake settle heavily into his stomach. “We’ll make it through this. Just keep going.”

He glared at his own plate, trying to come up with a battle plan. The more he chewed, the more would end up in his beard, but he would also have to endure the taste longer. If he just washed each bite down with a large amount of water, on the other hand...

Thorin took a large bite, gulped down some water and choked. He coughed and spluttered, gasping for breath as Dwalin thumped his back. For a few moments, he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to breathe again. Finally, he managed to down some more water and while his throat still burned, he was able to draw breath again. 

“Are you alright?” Dwalin asked.

Thorin nodded. “I think so. Don’t take too big bites and whatever you do, don’t get any of the cake into your nose. Believe me, you don’t want that.”

When Thorin had completely caught his breath, he began eating again. Medium-sized bite, chew three times, wash it down with water. That seemed to be the method that worked best.

He had managed several more bites when he hit a piece of Durin berry. The slimy chunk of fruit clung to his gums and the horrid taste was more intense than ever before. Thorin gagged.  
Fighting against the nausea, Thorin managed to take a deep swig of water and thankfully, the chunk of Durin berry began sliding down his throat. It still clung to everything it touched and Thorin gagged again more violently. Willing the cake to stay down, he took another sip of water.

“Piece of Durin berry?” Dwalin asked.

Thorin nodded, not quite daring to open his mouth.

“I had one right in my first bite,” Dwalin said.

“Are you enjoying my cake?” Grandma Durin asked, appearing behind them without any warning.

“Yes, it is delicious,” Thorin replied before clamping his jaws together again.

“Absolutely wonderful,” Dwalin agreed, nodding vigorously. 

“That’s good to hear,” Grandma Durin said cheerfully. “Did you hear that, King Thrór, son of Dáin son of Náin? At least your grandson and his friend are enjoying my cake, and they have better manners than you ever will.”

“I’m glad you like his manners,” Thrór replied, hurriedly retracting his fork from one of the vases on the table. “But you forget that I too enjoy the fruitcake, more than any other food, in fact.”

Grandma Durin merely raised an eyebrow and they all continued to struggle to get their pieces of cake down.

 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Frerin or Dís will have children who can be your heirs,” Hulda said, pouring Thorin a cup of the tea against stomach aches that they traditionally drank after eating Durin berry fruitcake. 

Thorin shrugged. “I’m not convinced Grandma Durin’s predictions are all that accurate.”

“She predicted the little incident with my eye,” Thráin pointed out. “There is no way she could have known that if she didn’t really have insight into the future. And don’t forget that she knew Grór would also have a realm of his own, which is rather unusual for a third son.”

“Perhaps there is somebody out there who actually loves her Durin berry fruitcake?” Thorin asked doubtfully.

Hulda shook her head. “You’ve tried it yourself now. Do you really think anyone could love it? I wouldn’t hold onto much hope for a marriage, lad.”

Thorin nodded. He hadn’t ever thought much about marriage and since he hadn’t really been attracted to any dwarrow or dwarrowdam, he hadn’t excluded the possibility of being craft-wed. He mainly bristled at the thought of having his future laid out before him by Grandma Durin.

 

Thorin nearly jumped when the skins of the make-shift tent rustled and he heard a familiar reedy voice.  
“You do know that Durin’s Day is next week?”

Thrór seemed equally startled as he spun around. “What are you doing here, Grandma Durin?”

“Like I said, Durin’s Day is next week. I just wanted to remind you of that so that you can prepare for the cake eating ceremony.”

Thorin realised he hadn’t even known if she had survived the dragon. Despite their losses, there were too many refugees to know all of them.

“I’m sorry, Grandma Durin, but I don’t think there will be any cake this year, considering the circumstances,” Thrór said.

“Do you doubt my abilities to obtain the necessary ingredients?” Grandma Durin asked, her voice dangerously low. Before any of them could react, she pulled out a large Durin berry and they all took a step back.

“Where did you get that?” Thorin asked. 

She cackled. “I have my sources.”

“Well, we are not wasting any supplies on that cake,” Thrór declared. 

“If there is no Durin berry fruitcake and not every speck of that cake is eaten, ill fortune will befall the kingdom. The cake-eating is a tradition that must be kept alive.”

“Much good it has done us so far,” Thrór said. “We’ve been eating that awful cake for decades, centuries even and look what befell us instead of the good luck we were promised!”

“Did you eat every last crumb of the cake?” Grandma Durin. “All the cake you tried to dispose of in other ways was bound to draw ill fortune sooner or later. And if that is what happens when not all of the fruitcake is eaten, do you want to know what will happen if you discard the tradition altogether?”

She raised an eyebrow, gave them all a long look and walked out of the tent.

 

A week later, the dwarves settled down to eat Durin berry fruitcake. Not a crumb was left and Thorin knew it had nothing to do with the hunger that plagued them on their journey.

 

There was a knock on Thorin’s door and he looked up from the last-minute adjustments he was making to the plans for the quest. 

“Come in.”

Grandma Durin walked in, a large smile on her face. She hobbled a little more than she had in his youth and had a few more wrinkles, but otherwise, she was unchanged. Thorin had decided years ago to spare himself the headache of wondering about her age.

“I have something for you,” Grandma Durin said, her reedy voice nearly taking on a sing-song quality. She held out a parcel. Thorin immediately knew what it was and tried not to shudder.

“It is still months and months until Durin’s Day! I don’t think we will need that. Besides, I am only taking a small company, so really, it won’t be necessary.”

“Oh, I know. But it will be months and months before you reach your goal. You will have reached Erebor before then and a kingdom needs luck, no matter how few people live in it. You don’t want to tempt fate.”

Thorin nodded reluctantly and took the parcel. The cake hadn’t gotten any easier to eat over the years, but he really didn’t want to risk it, not on this journey. Eating the cake was just one of the sacrifices he had to make for the good of his people.

“We’ll eat it and honour it.”

“That’s good. It’s a small cake too, so that your company won’t have too many difficulties carrying it. Just remember that it must all be eaten...”

“By thinking, two-legged beings without wings, yes.” The phrase about two legs had been added the year after Thrór had tried to feed the cake to Grór’s boar. When he had invited the ravens that following year, the addition about wings had been made. 

Grandma Durin smiled a nearly toothless smile at Thorin. “You are so much better at remembering these things than your grandfather ever was. You will be a good king and you might even find your luck on this journey. Just don’t be too proud to listen to your luck.”

She hobbled out of the room, leaving Thorin to wonder if he had imagined her wink.

 

Thorin carried the parcel with the fruitcake himself. He wanted to make sure it didn’t get lost (or discarded). Doing so had a few effects he hadn’t anticipated.

 

Bert the troll lifted the sack in which Thorin was tied up and sniffed at it. He wrinkled his nose. “This one ‘ere, we keep for last. ‘E stinks. I don’t want to be eating that ‘til I ‘ave no other choice.”

Thorin was dropped furthest away from the fire and had to watch as half his company was tied on a stake above the fire. As it turned out, their burglar was much better than expected at dealing with critical situations. Thorin might have to keep an eye on him instead of dismissing him entirely.

 

The goblins didn’t show much taste for Durin berry fruitcake either. 

“What’s this?” The limping goblin searching Thorin asked, holding the parcel at arm’s length with his thumb and forefinger. “Poison?”

“Food.”

The goblin sneered. “You’re not fooling me into eating this, dwarf. This smells worse than dung. And they say our food is awful….”

He dropped the parcel on the floor and continued searching Thorin. 

When Gandalf came to their rescue, Thorin quickly dove for the parcel, stuck it in his coat and then snatched Orcrist. He made sure he did not lose it during their escape and luckily, it survived the flight with the eagles as well.

 

“Did you search him?” The Elvenking asked, looking down upon Thorin from his throne.

The young elvish guard shifted on his feet and Thorin struggled to keep his face blank. If the guard had been in his service, he would not have kept his position for very long.

“I... took his weapons.”

The Elvenking frowned. “I take that as a no. Captain Tauriel, I expect you to train your recruits better than this.”

The elvish captain nodded. “Yes, my lord. Meludir, search him.” Her tone implied he would be doing plenty of unpleasant menial tasks in the near future.

Thorin watched as the young guard braced himself, stepped closer and recoiled.

“I... Captain Tauriel, I cannot.” He mumbled.

“What was that?” She asked in disbelief.

“I cannot search him, Captain Tauriel. I ask to be released from my service.”

She stared at him. “It is a simple command, Meludir. Why will you not obey it?”

“I cannot.” He hesitated, then lowered his eyes and mumbled. “He stinks.”

“You will have to face much worse than dwarves, Meludir. Do you think orcs smell of flowers? Search him.”

“But...”

Thorin raised an eyebrow at King Thranduil, enjoying the elves’ obvious disciplinary problems despite his own uncomfortable position.

“Enough of this, Captain Tauriel,” said King Thranduil, annoyance briefly replacing his blank expression. “Search him yourself and deal with Meludir later.”

“Yes, my lord.” 

Tauriel stepped over to Thorin and searched him, breathing through her mouth but not letting the smell of Durin berries stop her. She found a hidden dagger and the parcel with the fruitcake.

“What shall we do with this, my lord?” She asked the Elvenking, holding the parcel at arm’s length. “I think it’s either a decomposing animal or... excrement.”

Thorin huffed. “It is a traditional dwarven food! You uncivilised elves would not know quality if it bit you in your unnaturally bare faces! I will not have you insult the traditions of my ancestors!”

The elven captain looked unsettled and looked to her king for orders.

King Thranduil made an indifferent gesture. “Feed it to the boars or throw it into the forest. It matters not.”

“I do not think that is a good idea, my lord. Feeding this to a living creature is a cruelty I would not subject an orc to, let alone the boars. And the forest is already ill enough as it is....”

“Very well. Give it back to the dwarf as a sign of my good will. I am curious. What leads Thorin Oakenshield into these lands?”

When Thorin was dragged from the Elvenking’s halls several minutes and quite a few curses later, he had the parcel safe inside his coat and in it, the map and the key to Erebor, unseen by elven eyes.  
Now he only had to wait for their burglar to find a way to free them. As Thorin had suspected after the incident with the trolls, Bilbo had proven to be quite apt at situations like this. It was yet another item on Thorin’s list of odd things about their hobbit, to be pulled out in case somebody asked Thorin why he paid so much attention to Bilbo. Things that didn’t quite add up needed to be kept under observation after all, nothing strange about that.

 

Waiting was getting on Thorin’s nerves. They had reached the ledge where the hidden door should be late that the morning. There was no sign of the keyhole, but they had known it was unlikely for it to be visible until that evening, when the last light of Durin’s Day fell onto the mountain. And so Thorin paced, no longer having the challenges of the journey to distract him from how close he was to finally reaching his lifetime goal. 

Thorin nearly jumped when he suddenly heard Dwalin’s voice next to him.

“When is it time to eat the fruitcake?”

“The late afternoon should be a good time. It’s a bit earlier than customary, but I don’t want to miss the setting of the sun. In fact, we should probably continue to keep an eye on it even while the cake is eaten.” Thorin glanced over to where Bilbo was talking to Ori about his notes on their journey. 

Dwalin snorted. “Let me guess: you want Bilbo to watch the door instead of eating a slice of fruitcake like the rest of the company.”

Thorin nodded. “Well, it is a reasonable decision, is it not? Bilbo isn’t obliged to eat any of the cake since he isn’t a dwarf, so he can watch for the keyhole instead.”

“He is part of the company, as you have been so keen to point out lately. He can do his bit in eating our way through to the good luck of the new year. If he eats a slice, we all don’t have to eat quite as much and we can still watch for the keyhole.”

“But he’s not a dwarf! There’s no need to subject him to that!”

“Bilbo has two legs, no wings and a mind of his own, as he has demonstrated often enough. He fits the bill. I think you just don’t want to lose your face by letting him see you being tortured by cake or by having him taste the time-honoured horrors of this tradition. That, or you want to spare him. Either way, you like him a whole deal more than you want to let on.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! He has to steal from the dragon, the least we can do is not to subject him to this particular torture. He continues watching for the keyhole, that is my final word!”

Dwalin merely raised an eyebrow and strolled over to where Bifur, Bofur and Gloin were playing dice.

 

“What are you eating?” Bilbo asked.

Thorin gulped down the bite of cake and nearly choked when this disrupted his time-proven breathing pattern. “Durin berry fruitcake. It is an old tradition to eat it on Durin's Day.”

“May I have some as well?” Bilbo asked.

“You can have my piece!” Gloin offered eagerly.

“You really don't have to offer,” Balin said. “It mostly has... medicinal properties.”

Bilbo looked at the greenish tinge Balin's face was turning like it usually did on Durin's Day. “Are you ill? I thought it was just a tradition and not a medicine.”

“I'm fine, lad,” Balin said. “Or I will be once this evening is over.”

“We're just not sure the fruitcake is what you want to be eating tonight,” Thorin added. “We have plenty of perfectly fine cram.”

Bilbo pulled a face. “I wouldn't mind getting a taste of something different for a change. Unless of course only dwarves are allowed to eat this fruitcake.”

“No, everyone is allowed to eat it. It's just that...” Dwalin hesitated.

“It tastes awful!” Kíli burst out. “There's just no other way of putting it. It tastes like a mixture of onions, vomit and old sweat.”

“Kíli!” Thorin reprimanded him. “This fruitcake is a time-honoured tradition.”

“Well, it may be but it is still the worst thing I have ever tasted! There's just no other way to put it.”

“It is a bit of an... acquired taste,” Ori agreed.

“There is nothing acquired about it!” Fíli said. “If anything, it tastes worse each year.”

“The only reason anyone eats it is because Grandma Durin insists,” Nori added when Thorin said nothing more to reprimand the younger dwarves.

“Well, she has a point that bad things happen when the cake isn't eaten entirely,” Oín said. “The dragon came because the tradition was treated negligently in the days of Thror.”

“Oh be quiet!” Gloín grumbled. “He'll never help us eat the cake if you talk about it in this way.”

“Bilbo, you really don't have to eat any of the cake,” Thorin said. “It does taste unpleasant and is only eaten because of tradition.”

“If you can eat it, I'm pretty sure I can stomach it as well,” Bilbo replied.

“I really don't want you to feel pressured to eat it, you have already proven your courage to us over and over again. Believe me, it tastes even worse than it smells.”

Bilbo shrugged. “It doesn't actually smell that unpleasant. All your warnings are only making me more curious. I'd like to at least try a piece.”

Thorin stared at him. “Bilbo, really, you don't...”

“Just let me try some of it. I'm tired of cram and it can't be much worse than that.”

Thorin still hesitated and looked at the others helplessly. They shrugged, only Dwalin rolled his eyes at him.

“Alright,” Thorin finally agreed and handed a slice to Bilbo. “But you really don't have to...”

Bilbo took the piece of cake, sniffed at it and took a nibble. Thorin hovered by his side, a flask of water at the ready in case Bilbo wanted to try to wash the taste away. All the dwarves watched Bilbo's face curiously.

Bilbo chewed and laughed. “Oh, that's a good one!” He took a large bite. “You almost had me there. This is absolutely delicious! You just wanted to keep as much of it for yourself as possible but you can't fool me that easily!”

He finished the slice with a few large bites as the dwarves stared at him. Ori's eyes looked like they were about to fall out of their sockets and quite a few mouths were hanging open in disbelief.

Thorin quickly closed his mouth when he realised how ridiculous he must be looking. “You are painting our beards, right?”

Bilbo looked at him, licking the last few crumbs from his lips. He glanced around at the others and paused. “No... I'm not having you on... Why would I? I'd like another piece, if I may....”

Balin quickly handed him another slice which disappeared almost as quickly as the first had.

“You really don't like the fruitcake? Are you sure you don't mind that I'm eating so much of it?” Bilbo asked as Balin gave him yet another slice.

“Not particularly, no. Eat as much as you like,” Thorin managed, watching as the fruitcake disappeared into Bilbo's mouth at a record speed.

The other dwarves began handing Bilbo their pieces.

“Are you sure it isn't unlucky if Bilbo eats most of the cake?” Oín asked uncertainly.

Thorin shook his head. “I doubt it is. We've all eaten at least a bite and I don't think there are any rules to say everybody has to eat the same amount.”

It was then that Thorin noticed the smug look Dwalin was sending him. Suddenly, his ears felt much hotter than they should have in the cold winter air.

 

Thorin groaned inwardly when he felt the heavy thump of Dwalin's hand on his shoulder. 

"So when is the wedding?" Dwalin asked, grinning up to his ears.

"Oh, leave me alone. I am not marrying the burglar! Just because Grandma Durin said ages ago that I'd marry someone who likes her fruitcake and the hobbit happens to like fruitcake does not mean we are getting married. That is ridiculous."

"Is it? You know as well as I do that her little predictions usually turn out to be accurate."

Thorin looked with unease at the tunnel to Erebor into which Bilbo had disappeared earlier, much more cheerful at the prospect of facing a dragon now that he had a stomach full of cake. 

"I'm sure there are others who also like Durin berry fruitcake..."

Dwalin raised an eyebrow. "Are you really going to try using this argument again? In the almost 200 years you have been alive, how many others have you met who would eat even a single slice of that cake voluntarily?"

Thorin scowled. "None, if you must know. But I'm not getting married to somebody just because they like the nastiest cake in the world. I get a say about that, as does Bilbo."

"Nobody is suggesting any differently. But you can't deny you like him and from all that I've seen on this journey, he likes you too. Grandma Durin's prediction just makes it much more likely that you are lucky and it will actually amount to something."

Thorin shrugged and then turned pensive. "Grandma Durin did mention I might find my luck on this quest. I thought she meant regaining the kingdom, but her advice to listen to my luck didn't really make any sense that way..."

Dwalin grinned again. "See, her predictions definitely refer to Bilbo. And even leaving fate out of the equation, I like you better when Bilbo is around. You aren't quite as block-headed as you usually are."

This time, it was Thorin's turn to give Dwalin a smack.

 

The company was asleep, only Bombur's outline was visible on the ramparts against the flickering lights of the elves' army. Thorin's restlessness kept him awake, worry and anger gnawing at the edges of his mind. At least he had stopped pacing, gazing down at Bilbo’s sleeping shape instead.

"Would you please stop doing that?!" Bilbo asked, stirring and looking up at Thorin. His voice was creaky with sleep and annoyance. "It is rude and creepy and I am thoroughly sick of waking up to find you hovering over me like that! I'm pretty sure your wise woman meant you are supposed to listen to my advice, not to my snores."

"I'm sorry," Thorin said, shifting awkwardly. "I didn't mean to disturb you. Did Dwalin tell you about that? I'll have to have a word or two with him..."

Bilbo huffed. "Such tales do travel rather quickly in the company, you know. Kíli was the one who mentioned it, not Dwalin. I suppose I'm lucky to have heard about this before the morning of the wedding...."

"It's not like that!" Thorin protested. "I'm not going to marry somebody just because an old woman makes a few cryptic comments!"

"Well, that's good to hear. I was actually considering staying in Erebor a bit longer, not least because of you. But truth be told, now I just want this entire mess to be over so that I can go home."

Thorin froze. Bilbo going back to the Shire had always been a possibility that was far away in the future and lately, he had forgotten about it altogether. Although he always denied it, whenever he wasn't consumed with rage at elves, men and the absence of the Arkenstone, he secretly wondered what being married to Bilbo would be like.  
"Please don't leave! I'll give you whatever you want. I can give you gold, or jewels... I'd even renounce my family for you!"

Bilbo shook his head. "I don't want any of that, you see. That's just it, actually. I liked the way you cared for your family, for the people who follow you and all their small concerns. The way you talked about the little things your nephews did when they were young, how you described the settlement in the Blue Mountains, as humble as it may be and the plans you had for Erebor... all that was what I liked about you. Now, you seem to have forgotten about that. All you seem to care about is your horrid treasure... and perhaps following me about like a little puppy. And while I like getting attention as much as the next hobbit does, this is just unsettling. I just want things to be like they were before we entered the mountain... I wish I could see the person I thought you were before."  
Bilbo shook his head. "I'm sorry. I don't have the right to tell you what you ought to be like. I was mistaken. Sometimes I wish I could just close my eyes and be back in Bag End."

"I'm sorry," Thorin said. "I did not want to disappoint you. I'll leave, if you like, and I'll stop bothering you."

He turned and took a step away, but Bilbo grasped his hand, just long enough to stop him.  
"I don't really want you to leave. I'm not entirely sure I want to leave either. I just can't stand the way things are right now. I know you don't like them and they shouldn't be here with an army, but can't you just talk to them? Not across the ramparts, but at a table like polite people?"

"I don't see what..." Thorin started, then stopped himself at the resignation that settled on Bilbo's face. He swallowed and pushed down his anger, starting again in a softer tone. "I don't like being threatened. I don't like being cheated out of what is mine and that is what I have had to accept from the day Smaug destroyed Erebor. I do not want to begin my reign as king of Erebor by being cheated again." Thorin sighed. "I don't know what will change just by sitting down at a table with them, but if you want me to, I will. I just cannot guarantee it will change anything."

"Thank you." Bilbo nodded at the space beside him and Thorin hesitantly sat down.

"I think just showing some good will might do quite a bit of good at this point," Bilbo said. "Let them see you are willing to talk to them, possibly even in a polite way. You don't have to empty out your treasure vault; you just have to try to find a way to get along with them, they are your neighbours after all. And if Laketown and Dale are not rebuilt, your only close neighbours will be the elves, so that alone might be a reason to help them, if preventing them from suffering the same fate you did back then is not enough. It might not be much at all, they just need to get through the winter. Prove those elves wrong by showing them how much of an overreaction it was to bring along an army."

"I'll think about it," Thorin said. "Balin is usually better at that kind of thing; he will want to come along and I can leave the tactics of negotiating to him. Would you want to be there as well? I think I might need an occasional reminder to be polite."

Bilbo smiled. "I think I would. But first, we should probably try to get some sleep."

Thorin nodded and started to get up, but Bilbo held him back and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, Thorin."

Thorin mumbled a reply even he himself couldn't understand, then hurried off, his face burning.

 

"I was wondering," Bilbo said as he stripped the sheets off one of the beds in the rooms of healing from which more and more patients were being released. "Do you have the recipe of the Durin berry fruitcake?"

"I'm afraid not. Having to eat it once a year was always more than enough for me."

Bilbo looked disappointed. "Alright, I guess I'll just have to wait until Grandma Durin arrives with the trek from the Blue Mountains then."

"Are you thinking of staying because of that horrible cake?" Thorin asked with a laugh he didn't quite feel, trying to ignore the lump that formed in his throat every time he thought about Bilbo leaving.

"No. Actually, I talked to Bombur today and he mentioned some mushroom farming techniques I think would work well with a fertilising method we use in the Shire. And no, that isn't a reason for me to stay either," he added, seeing the incredulous look on Thorin's face. "It just made me realise that I'm not thinking about going back to the Shire at all."

Thorin let out a shaky breath. The weight that suddenly lifted off his mind made Thorin's head spin for a brief moment.

"Thorin? If you don't want me to stay..."

"No, I do. I really do."

"Well, that's good. Because you are a big part of the reason I want to stay. I... I wasn't quite sure how much of what you said back then still counts..."

Thorin looked at Bilbo, opened his mouth, thought better of it and closed it again. Instead, he pulled Bilbo into a bone-crushing hug. After a few moments, he pressed their heads together and gently kissed Bilbo. 

There was a cough from one of the beds.

"I'm glad for the two of you, but I thought I should maybe remind you that there are still others in the room," Kíli said from his bed. "I may not be in shape to push you out, but I'm sure when I tell Fíli about this, he will be more than happy to remove you from the room to prevent my poor injured soul from further suffering."

"Your soul is just about the only part of you that wasn't injured," Dwalin said from the next bed. "Though I'm not sure I can say the same about mine after having to listen to your talk day after day with no escape. But I agree: you two should take it elsewhere before this becomes any more sickening."

Thorin glared at them and he and Bilbo left the room while their companions laughed at them.

 

"You are absolutely evil," Bilbo whispered into Thorin's ear as the dwarves nervously eyed the plates with dinner that Grandma Durin was handing them instead of the traditional slice of cake. "They all think they are going to be poisoned in a nasty way. I still can't believe none of them will miss the Durin berry fruitcake."

"Believe me, they won't," Thorin replied. "They will be thrilled they won't have to eat it. I'm more surprised Grandma Durin didn't contrive a way to continue to make us suffer. She always enjoyed torturing everybody with that cake."

"She's actually rather nice once you get to know her," Bilbo replied. "And you should really try her scones, they are to die for."

"I think I'll pass," Thorin said, shuddering. "I think the words you meant to say were 'to die of'."

Bilbo shoved his elbow between Thorin's ribs. "That was rude! Now shush, she is bringing out the cake."

The hall hushed as Grandma Durin revealed the Durin berry fruitcake that needed to be eaten to bring luck to the kingdom. Thorin tried not to shudder at the smell. She slowly carried the cake over to Bilbo.

"Here you are, lad. Enjoy it!" She patted his head.

"Thank you, Grandma Durin, I will." Bilbo smiled at the old lady.

The dwarves stared at him and the cake in front of him. Thorin had a hard time keeping the grin off his face.

/You can't do that!/ Daín signed urgently from the other side of the table. /You can't torture your hobbit by letting him eat that without even warning him!/

Thorin just shrugged and watched Daín's jaw drop when Bilbo started devouring the cake.

Every dwarf in the hall watched in shock.

Only Dís broke into laughter. "Oh, this explains so much! So, dear brother, when is the wedding?"

"Actually, we're not getting married," Bilbo replied around a mouthful of cake. "We have everything we could possibly want and Thorin does not want to give Grandma Durin the satisfaction of being right."

“Always such a granite-head,” Dís shook her head and gave Thorin a slight whack. 

“That he is,” Bilbo agreed, leaning towards Thorin to kiss him.

Thorin dodged him and shuddered. “Brush your teeth first, for Durin’s sake!”

Bilbo laughed. “You are all completely useless when it comes to taste, you know that?”


End file.
